tenebrism
by Phantom Thief Oryx
Summary: Two scenes in Gregminster, and what happens in between. — Humphrey


**a/n;;** written for areyougame on dreamwidth~

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One day, when he is six years old (or maybe seven), he goes with his father to Gregminster to sell their wares at the market. To his young mind, the capital city is the most beautiful thing in the world, with its pristine white-washed buildings and cobbled streets and flowerboxes hanging from most every window. The ladies wear elegant dresses and carry parasols in hand. There are statues made of gold and fountains made of marble. It is so astonishingly different from his own village, where the people are grim and somber and the days are dank and dreary, and there is nothing to distract one's mind from the endless drudgeries of life.

There is a crowd gathered in the square, and Humphrey stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck, trying in vain to see what all the fuss is about. His father reaches down and puts his arms around him; lifts him up so he can see.

There is a raised platform in the center of the square. Several people stand upon it, including a man dressed in rags, his face gaunt and hollow, his wrists bound in shackles. Around his neck is a rope.

"He is a criminal, Humphrey," his father says, answering the unasked question. "A traitor to the Empire. He committed treason, and so he will pay for his crimes with his life. You understand, don't you, son? We must always obey the Emperor's laws. We must follow the rules, lest we end up like that bad man there."

Humphrey nods obediently, and he watches, transfixed, as the executioner steps forward to tighten the noose.

Years later, as his blade pierces his commanding officer's chest and he sees the life drain from the man's eyes, Humphrey will think (not for the first time) that perhaps lawfulness is not always the same as honor. And he will remember the man who was hanged in the square that day long ago – the way he accepted his death with calm and bravado. The way he held himself with pride, even in his last moments. And, more than anything, the way his legs twitched obscenely, like a puppet on a string, until he was finally, mercifully still.

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Humphrey wonders, from time to time, how old Joshua Levenheit really is. His hair is silver and his face is etched with faint lines of age. His eyes are positively ancient – eyes that have seen things that Humphrey, at a mere twenty-two, cannot even begin to fathom. And yet there is something young about him, too, in the quick spring of his step and the wry quirk of his smile. In this way, Joshua Levenheit is timeless (or so Humphrey often thinks). He belongs neither in the past nor the future.

He just… _is_.

When Humphrey arrives at Goya, Joshua seems unsurprised. He feigns it, of course, but something in his expression gives him away (something akin to worry, if Humphrey looks close enough). News and hearsay travel fast, in the realm of the Dragon Knights. He will have already heard some whispered rumors, vague half-truths carried in upon the wind.

"Humphrey Mintz," Joshua says, and smiles half-heartedly. "It is good to see you, my friend. But why are you here? Last I heard, the Hundred Man Corps was busy fighting a losing war."

"… Circumstances have changed," Humphrey says. He takes the seat that Joshua has offered and folds his hands in his lap, a sudden weariness stealing over him. "Things are different now. I do not believe… that the Empire will be requiring my services any longer."

Joshua raises an eyebrow. "I see," he says. "Would you… Would you like a drink?"

Humphrey sits there for a long, quiet moment, his head bowed.

_Why?_ he wants to ask. _How could this happen? I believed in Barbarossa. We all did. We fought for him, and honored him, and placed our future in his hands. And this is how our trust is repaid? With betrayal? With death? Were we nothing more than pawns from the start? Pawns to be used or disposed of when needed, all in the name of some foolish war?_

But in the end he says none of this.

Instead he merely nods, and reaches over to take the proffered glass with trembling fingers. He will drink today, and perhaps tomorrow also, but he knows deep down that it will not help him forget. Nothing will. When he closes his eyes he will still see the blood, and he will still hear the screams, and he will still remember the heat that licked at his skin as the cotton fields of Kalekka burned in the night.

"Do you remember General Kreutz?" Joshua asks, out of the blue. He leans back in his chair and fixes Humphrey with a stare that seems to see right through him.

"Geil Rugner's right-hand man? What of him?"

"He is here, at Goya. He came here soon after Geil's defeat, asking to be granted sanctuary, and I gave it to him. Do you know why?"

"…"

"Because he is my friend. We may have fought on different sides during the War of Succession, but that changes nothing. It is but one conflict in a long, long history of conflicts, and he is a good man who does not deserve to live the life of a hunted fugitive."

"Perhaps there are those among us who would prefer the life of a fugitive," Humphrey says.

Joshua laughs softly, then – a sad sound, tired and ragged, with an underlying hint of exasperation.

"Yes," he sighs. "Perhaps."

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The Wanted posters never seem to get it right. On one, too-thin lips and a weak jaw. On another, an overlarge nose and the deep, sunken eyes of an impoverished beggar. And the hair? Not even close. Too dark on one and too long on another, with a receding hairline that makes him grimace.

He's finally found it, Humphrey thinks. The benefit to being quiet. People forget you more easily – your face and your voice and your mannerisms. As a child it felt like a curse, the way people's gazes seemed to skip over him, like he wasn't there at all. The way his words were often lost when he spoke, buried beneath the loudness of others. But now he finally sees:

Invisibility too can be a blessing.

Nonetheless, he takes care not to spend too long in one place. A month, at the most, before he is off wandering again. He takes odd jobs where he can to earn a bit of coin – assisting an elderly gardener in Antei, hauling fresh catches at the docks in Teien, helping with the fall harvest in Rikon. In Kouan he signs on as temporary bodyguard to a travelling dignitary, and so is privy the first stirrings of gossip: there are those who are displeased with the Emperor. Those who would perhaps wish to dethrone him. The word "revolution" is not yet present on anyone's lips, but Humphrey can hear it all the same, echoing back, it seems, from some future time.

And so the years pass unremarkably.

Until one day, in Seika, when he is approached by a woman with long red hair.

"Humphrey Mintz?" she says, and he glances up; studies her for a long moment. She is young, beautiful in a fierce way, with a determined set to her features and a confident gleam in her eye. She does not seem to be affiliated with the Empire – she has only one guard, a man dressed in blue, who glares sullenly at Humphrey from across the way. Upon closer inspection he may be closer to boyhood than manhood, his face still possessing some youthful softness.

Humphrey inclines his head in acknowledgement. "How did you find me?" he asks.

"We have a reliable source in Goya who informed us of your general whereabouts," the woman says, with a conspiratorial smile. "Though pinpointing your exact location took quite a bit of trial and error. You're a difficult man to get a hold of."

"So Joshua has been keeping tabs on me all this time, has he?"

"Indeed. And he seemed confident that you would be interested in joining our cause." Here she steps closer; lowers to her voice almost to a whisper. "He said that you of all people had reason to take up arms against the Emperor."

Humphrey thinks back, then, to the War of Succession, to all which he gave and all those he killed in the name of Barbarossa Rugner. He thinks back to the Hundred Man Corps – to his unflinching loyalty, even in the face of meaningless war, even as his comrades died around him. He thinks back to Kalekka, the memories of which still feel so fresh and terrible, as if it had only been yesterday.

"… Yes," he muses aloud. "Yes, I suppose I do."

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It's the Toran Republic now.

Humphrey keeps forgetting this; keeps calling it the Empire and receiving scathing glances from his comrades at the Liberation Army HQ.

"I'm a bit of a failure as a revolutionary," he admits, and Joshua laughs. They are walking side-by-side through the courtyard at Goya, passing beneath the boughs of the ancient silver birch that grows there. When Humphrey looks up into the sky he can see flashes of colour every so often, sunlight gleaming off polished scales – dragons flying past on their way to the Den.

"You are not alone, my friend. I, too, have slipped up several times, only to be corrected rather disdainfully by Milia." Joshua pauses and reaches out absentmindedly, running his fingertips across the bark of the tree. "It all just seems… far too abrupt. Far too easy. And of course I mean no disrespect to the sacrifices of Young Master McDohl and his avid supporters. It is just that… I have kept a watchful eye over the Scarlet Moon Empire and the dynasty of the Rugner family for longer than most would believe. And suddenly it's all just… gone. Overthrown in what feels like an instant. It is all very strange."

"… I know what you mean," Humphrey murmurs.

"I had a feeling you would understand," Joshua says, smiling. "You are an old soul, Humphrey. You are young still, and yet you observe the world like a seasoned veteran. Perhaps that is why we are so suited to each other's company." His smile fades a bit, then, and his eyes become pensive and thoughtful. "Actually… There is a reason why I asked you here today. Soon, I will be stepping down as leader of the Dragon Knights."

It is not a surprising announcement, but Humphrey still feels somehow dismayed. He cannot imagine Goya without Joshua Levenheit. In his mind the two are inextricably linked. Would the castle walls not decay and crumble the moment Joshua left his post? Would the man himself not disappear the moment his title was bequeathed? The very idea of walking into that familiar old office and seeing someone else behind the desk… To Humphrey, it is almost unfathomable.

"You know," Joshua says, his expression distant. "All those years ago, when I accepted the Dragon Rune… I thought myself terribly lucky. With the Rune, I would never age. I would never lose my good health, or my sight, or become addled in the way that old men often do. Unless I threw myself recklessly into harm's way, I would never die. I could continue on forever, just as I was, until the end of time itself." He sighs quietly. "But now, after so many years have passed, I realize that perhaps those things are not such a curse after all. Growing old, growing weak, passing on… Those are blessings in disguise, really. The brevity of a human life is what makes it beautiful, I think. No man should live forever. Least of all a man like me, who desires so little.

"Yes… I think I will be quite content, leaving this life behind." He reaches out and puts a hand on Humphrey's shoulder. "But before I go, I have a favor to ask of you, my friend. I would not request this of you if I had any other choice, but alas… There is no one else I trust enough."

"Please, ask away," Humphrey says, and bows his head respectfully. "Any service I can perform, I will perform readily."

"… In the Liberation Army, there was a boy. I'm sure you'll remember him. A Dragon Knight. Very young – much too young for war, but he was there all the same.

"His name is Futch."

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On their way to the Jowston border, they stop in Gregminster to stock up on supplies. The capital is completely changed from Humphrey's childhood memories, having been razed to the ground during the War of Succession and rebuilt even more opulent than before. And now it displays the wounds of conflict once again – broken windows, faint bloodstains on the pavement, houses with their doors flung open, awaiting occupants who fled and have yet to return (and perhaps will never). But there is an air of triumph about the place, too. The people they pass on the streets are all smiling. The war was hard-fought, but it was fought for the right reasons.

There is a crowd gathered in the square, and Futch stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck, trying in vain to see what all the fuss is about.

"Would you like me to lift you up?" Humphrey offers. Futch merely scowls at him and runs off; clambers up on to the base of a broken statue and peers out across the crowd. (Humphrey shrugs. He supposes eleven is a bit old for such things anyhow.)

There is a raised platform in the middle of the square. Several people are gathered upon it, many of them familiar faces – Alen, Grenseal, Valeria, Sonya, Kai. And Lepant, of course, his wife Eileen standing dutifully behind him. He steps forward to the lectern; smiles and waves to the masses down below who are clapping and cheering, shouting words of encouragement that echo across the rooftops. Humphrey realizes, suddenly, what this gathering is.

It is the Toran Republic's very first Presidential Address.

Kwanda Rosman calls for quiet. The crowd calms almost immediately, an expectant hush falling over the square like a wave, silence rippling outward from the center.

Lepant clears his throat, and shuffles his notes, and Humphrey Mintz smiles ever so slightly as he settles in to listen.


End file.
